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THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT,! 


Mntomi puts Innocent to death for strikmg Manj Forrest . — Sec juigc 17. 

BOSTON: 

GLEASON’S PUBLISHING BALL, 

CORNER OF TREMONT AND COURT STREETS, 
S.FRf-NCH. 293 Broadway, New York. A. WINCH, IK) Cliestiiut St, l*hi'adela. 
STRATTON & BARNARD, 121 Main Srreer, Cinciimati. D. JKNE, 2/3 
Main St. Biiffiilo. WM. TAYLOR, Jarvis’ Building, Noiili St. BaliinioiG. 
FLETCHER & SELLERS, Rue Champs Elytees, New Orleans. 

1847. 




OR, THE 


INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT, 


W"*' 



BOSTON: 

OLEASON’S PUBLISHING HALL, CORNER OF TREMONT 
AND COURT STREETS. 

1847. 


1 









Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1846 , hy F, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court (f Massachusetts, 


I 


) 



□ 

□ 


OR, THE 

INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 



CHAPTER I. 

It was a beautiful night in the month of June, in the year 17 — . 
Not a breeze had been stirring, through the live-long day, to cool the 
feverish and excited brain, and when the sun having descended be- 
neath the horizon, left the face of the earth free from its scorching 
rays, how gladly did both man and beast avail themselves of the cool 
evening breeze, as it floated sweetly along. The inhabitants, through 
the then thinly settled states, might be seen quietly seating themselves 
on the green grass plats before their rural cottages, and talking over 
old affairs, enjoying the pleasure of the cool evening air, as it rustled 
carelessly and calmly through the vales and wide spreading trees, 
w’hjle the lowing herds emerged from the bushes, where they had re- 
tired to shield themselves from the fiery orb of day, to indulge their 
appetites by nibbling the fresh grass, which they had been deprived of 
doing before, by the boiling atmosphere. It was already becoming 
quite dark, although not a cloud overshadowed the heavens, but the 
moon had not yet risen to light up the smoky darkness. But soon it 
came, scattering the smokes, which are so common in the New Eng- 
land States after a warm and sultry day, until they gradually dispersed 
before its enlivening rays. It had just began to ascend the sky in 



0 


MNE03I1: OR, 


brightness and beauty, when a female was seen to leave a beautiful 
cottage situated on the banks of tliat river, which was then and is now, 
considered the most beautiful stream in the United States, namely, the 
Connecticut. To appearance about seventeen summers had passed 
over her head, and her countenance bespoke her to be a maiden of 
true American stamp. I shall not attempt to describe her features, 
as it would be an almost endless task to trace upon paper all the beau- 
ties which graced her elegant person ; but let this suffice, that she was 
one of those sweet, red-faced girls that the stranger often sees as he 
journeys through the valley of the Connecticut, with the glow of 
health beaming from every feature. She, was seen to pass through a 
small chestnut grove which lie between the cottage and the Connecti- 
cut. As she arrived at the little opening which bordered on the river, 
she seated herself upon a little knoll of grass which overlooked the 
water, and by her constant watching the opposite bank, she was evi- 
dently expecting some one to join her. And ever and anon, as the 
noisy fish mounted to the surface of the broad and beautiful stream, 
or the water-fowl floated majestically along with the current, her at- 
tention was immediately drawn to the spot, as she fancied she caught 
the sound of the light dipping oar, or the little canoe skimming 
smoothly and gracefully through the water. Many times was her 
gaze bent towards the sounds, and as many times did she resume her 
former position in despair. At length, however, a noise was heard, 
and upon looking up she perceived a little way off a boat, and skim- 
ming lightly toward the shore.. She started up from her resting place 
and flew down the bank to the edge of the water, and while she is 
anxiously watching the progress of the little bark, let us take a brief 
survey of the boat and its contents. 

It is a canoe, evidently of Indian manufacture, but modelled a little 
to suit the white man’s taste. In it diligently plying the oars, is a 
young man, to appearance, about the age of twenty. He is a strong, 
robust looking fellow, with a countenance which although the sunny 
days of June have marked it with a complete brown, yet virtue, gen- 
erosity and affection beam from every feature of his intelligent face. 
In the stern of the boat you may observe, crouched close to the bot- 
tom and watching every motion of the man, a large and beautiful dog, 
knowm then as an English mastiff. As the boat nears the shore, the 
dog seems to catch the eye of the maiden, and he bounds furiously to 
the fore part, ready, the moment it touches its destination, to leap 
clear of the canoe. In a moment the boat touches the shore, both 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 7 

man and dog rush at once, as it were, to see which should greet his 
mistress first. 

‘Down, Brave, down !’ cried the young man as the dog leaped fu- 
riously upon the beautiful form of the girl. 

‘ O, Edward,’ exclaimed the maiden as she threw herself passionate- 
^ly into the youth’s arms, ‘ why did you tarry so long ? I have been 
waiting ever since yonder moon commenced climbing the sky.’ 

‘ Blame me not, Mary, blame me not,’ spoke the youth, pressing the 
lovely person of the maiden to his bosom, ‘ business w hich you known 
not of, yet I trust will ere long, detained me from meeting you at the 
time appointed ; but here I am safe, and we can enjoy each others 
society for a while, I trust.’ 

‘ Heavens ! Edward,’ cried the girl, ‘ you are are pale ! Why all 
this tremor and agitation, surely something must have happened to 
you V 

‘ No, dearest, nothing, ’tis but the flush of toil, received by urging 
the boat across the current.’ 

‘ No, no. There is, there must be something that troubles you. 
Why disguise any thing from me ? Pour forth your sorrows freely, 
and trust me, dearest Edward.’ 

‘ Surely, then, you are in the wrong. Why should I conceal any 
thing from you, Mary, why veil the truth in mystery ? I have noth- 
ing to tell you.’ 

‘ Nay, Edward, say not so, if there is nothing, why this agitation, 
this feverisdi excitement? I know— ’ 

‘ Hold, Mary,’ cried Edward, ‘ you are too fast, wait and I will tell 
you all.’ 

‘ Do then,’ said Mary, ‘ and let me know the worst.’ 

As these words were uttered, a shadow passed before their eyes. 
Each looked up with surprise, and the dog who had lain quietly by the 
side of the young friends during the foregoing conversation, bounded 
from his resting place, and gave a low impatient growd. As the dog 
started, Edward thought he perceived a figure dart into a thick grove 
of bushes which skirted the river. The dog was on the point of rush- 
ing forward, when he w^as seized by his young master, who bade him 
be quiet. At length he resumed his usual calmness, and sunk again 
into his place, when the maid spoke : 

‘ Who o^* what can wish to intrude upon our interview V 

‘ It was nothing,’ resumed the young man, ‘ except the imagination 
of the mind, or perhaps a cloud passing over the face of the moon. 


8 


MNE03I1 : OR, 


But to resume our conversation. You must know Mary, a few 
months since, a young man, a friend of mine, residing farther down 
the river, was taken prisoner by the Indians, and detained many 
weeks among them, not a chance offering for him to escape. At 
length, however, he was detected in endeavoring to escape, and was 
immediately doomed to the stake. He was bound hand and foot for 
several days, until at length the day arrived that was to separate him 
from all he held most dear. The day came, and he was led trembling 
to the place of death. 

Before carrying him to the stake, his feet had been unbound that he 
might be able to walk to the burning pile. As he came near, he felt the 
cords give way which bound his hands. In an instant he jumped 
from the grasp of his tormentors, and wresting a war-club from the 
nearest warrior, felled him to the ground, and then with the strength 
of a demon, he broke his way through the crowd of innumerable war- 
ri<^rs which were formed around him, and escaped. Such a desperate 
and sudden escape paralyzed for a moment every person, and before 
they could recover their self-possession, he was some ways distant. 
Quick as they regained their scattered senses, they started in pursuit, 
and headed by their intrepid chief; Mneomi, or the Eagle Eye, they flew 
after their victim with almost winged speed. They proceeded many 
hundred rods, the Indians neither gaining nor losing ground upon the 
unfortunate man. Soon, however, it was visible that the Indians w'ere 
gaining rapidly upon my friend. Being flitigued and breathless, he 
was upon the point of sinking down, when he perceived some of 
his pursuers began to fail in strength, which gave him new courage, 
and observing a thick wood near by, he ran towards it with all speed, 
in hopes to reach it ere he should be overtaken ; but before he had 
gained the outskirts of the ^voods, he turned around and beheld the 
chief of the tribe, the one w'^ho had planned his death, the savage and 
bloody Mneomi, within a few rods of him. He sprang forward, but 
all was in vain, before he could obtain the covert of the wood, he was 
clasped in the arms of the swarthy savage. Both overcome by fatigue 
fell heavily to the ground. Not a moment was to be lost, and as the 
Indian was about to plunge the deadly knife in his bosom, he 
wrested it from him, and with giant strength drove it to the hilt in the 
body of the savage, and then mustering all his remaining strength, 
flew to the woods, and ere his savage pursuers had time to advance to 
the assistance of their chief, he was safely concealed from sight. As 
the Indians conveyed their senseless chief to their wigwams, many 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 


9 


were the vows of revenge uttered by their enraged warriors. After a 
long while the wounded chief, who had for many days remained upon 
the verge of death, revived from his lethargy and regained his former 
strength, and but last night, sought out the lovely cottage of my 
friend, and captured his beloved wife and child, who are now pr,obably 
doomed to a fearful death, and this night I start, accompanied by the 
husband, Charley Plale, and a company of brave fellows, in pursuit, 
to deliver, if possible, these dear friends from the hands of their mer- 
ciless captors. And now will this answer for my dejected coun- 
tenance? But I must leave you now, Mary, trusting in the God of 
the innocent to guide me in this hour of trial.’ 

‘ O no, Edward,’ exclaimed Mary, ‘ you must not leave me, and 
your dear mother, you must not go ; you can accomplish nothing 
against so fortxiidable a foe.’ 

‘ It may perhaps be so,’ returned Edward, ‘ but I must try. Trust in 
Providence and all will yet be well. I had almost determined to leave 
without your knowledge, but your anxious feelings and desires led me 
to unfold to you my secret, and now I must bid you farewell, and I 
will leave with you our old friend Brave, who will cheer you up in 
your lonely moments. And now, Mary, farewell,’ exclaimed Edward, 
and embracing the fainting girl he tore himself away. ‘ God bless 
you, Mary, and should the fates decree that I should never ’ 

Here he ended, for the powerful emotions of his breast forbid farther 
utterance, and casting one farewell glance at the pale countenance of 
the maiden, and to his faithful dog, he flew to the river, and was soon 
moving swiftly to the opposite shore. The dog followed with his eyes, 
the retreating form of his master, as long as he could see, and then 
turned his attention to the almost senseless maiden, who upon recov- 
ering her self-possession, clasped the old dog affectionately in her 
arms. Long did she watch the little boat till it reached the opposite 
shore, when the retreating figure of her lover was lost in the distance, 
and then with a slow step and a melancholy heart, she commenced 
retracing her footsteps home, in which walk she was gallantly pre- 
ceded by the dog. 

When she had nearly reached her house, and just before she had 
emerged from the thicket before mentioned, she was startled by a sud- 
den growl from the dog, when on looking up, she beheld a tall gaunt 
figure immediately before her. Upon seeing it, she was bound to the 
spot. In an instant, and before she had time to discern the outline 
of the figure, it had vanished from sight, and the dog had with a bound 


10 


MNEOMI :OR, 


disappeared in the woods in pursuit. When she had recovered from 
the fright she had so unexpectedly been thrown into, by this frightful 
sight, she flew to the house, and sought her chamber nearly overcome 
by the spectacle, and many were the conjectures raised as she sank 
upon her pillow. At length overcome by the grief and fright she 
had experienced within the last few hours, she found relief in sleep. 
Many times, however, during the night did she wake, imagining her- 
self in the arms of the painted savage, and then again would she 
dream of wandering hand in hand with him she held most dear, until 
being overpow^ered by the many different emotions, she slept sound, 
and undisturbed, and as the sun rose in beauty in the morning, it found 
her in a sweet and pleasant sleep. 


CHAPTER II. 


In beginning a new chapter^ we will briefly describe the personages 
before mentioned^ Edward Mitchell was born in England. His father 
was once among the first citizens of the kingdom, but through misfor- 
tune and the fickle mind of a king, he fell from his station, and was 
obliged to collect together the scattered remnants of his fortune, and 
move with his wife and son to the new continent. At this time Edward 
was fifteen yeaf s of age, happy and cheerful as are the birds of a spring 
morning, when all nature sings its beautiful songs of harmony and 
peace. On his arrival at the continent, he was soon initiated into the 
manners and customs of the people of the new country. It was here 
he became acquainted with Mary Forrest, who was at this time twelve 
years of age, and her mild and pleasant countenance contrasted well 
with the generous and open-hearted spirit of Edward, and as they 
wandered through the forest, and along the banks of the beautiful 
stream, they formed that attachment which is only to be broken off 
by death. Mary’s parents had been inhabitants of the continent for 
many years, and Mary being born there, she had been brought up in 
wood as it were, and beneath the outward garb of beauty rested a 
frank and noble mind. At last overcome by his misfortunes, the father 
of Edward was gathered to that place from whence no traveler returns, 
and Edward was left at the early age of eighteen years to support his 
mother. Three years after the death of his father, our tale commences. 
One glance more however to the dog which we have before noticed. 


12 


MNEOMl : OR, 


Suffice it to say that he was sent over the waters to Edward by an 
uncle, and after remaining in the family a long time, enjoying their 
sports, and participating in their sorrows, he became an indispensible 
part of the little circle, or at least he was so considered by every mem- 
ber of the family. But I will not trespass upon the patience of my 
readers, but will resume my narrative. On Edwards arrival at his 
friends house, he heard with surprise that the leader of the gang had 
that morning been seen in a neighboring thicket, but on being obser- 
ved, he immediately vanished from sight, and was seen no more. — 
Search had been made within many miles, scouts had been sent in 
every direction, but as yet nothing more had been seen or heard of 
the daring savage. Every one sent out had returned, with the excep- 
tion of one, that one the husband of the unfortunate woman' taken 
prisoner. He the most shrewd, and cunning of the company, still re- 
mained absent. Measures were immediately taken by Edward Mit- 
chell who had by an unanimous voice been proclaimed leader of the 
party, to ferret out the mysterious movements of the savages. After 
arrangements had been completed, and all were nearly ready to start 
in pursuit, Charley Hale, the one who had beenra long while out in 
search, and the one for whom the rest were anxiously waiting, returned 
stating that he had discovered the trail of the enemy. In an instant 
every gun was firmly clasped, and a loud ‘ huzza ’ burst from every 
lip. After the^first acclamation of joy had subsided, Edward Mitchell 
advanced before the company and said : 

‘ Friends, you are all aware of the object of our meeting, and you 
are also aware that to secure our object we must without farther delay 
commence our labors. It is evident the foe are travelling to the north 
to secure a safer and better retreat. I would advise that we seperate 
ourselves into two parties, the one to go north with me, up the river, the 
other to advance in the same direction, but bearing farther to the west.’ 

This proposition was acceded to by every one, and a suggestion was 
made who should assume the command of the other party. Soon 
Charley Hale was whispered, every ear caught the welcome sound, 
and the old forest rang with the united and swelling sound of ‘Char- 
ley Hale! Three cheers for Charley 1’ 

The two parties now separated, the one led by Edward Mitchell up 
the river, while the other preceded by the determined Charley, directed 
their steps farther west, both to advance in the same direction, viz : 
north. The day was somewhat advanced ere they left their homes in 
pursuit, and as they left every man was determined to rescue the wife 


13 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 

4 

and child of their friend Charley, or perish in the attempt. Each one 
now pursued their respective routes, and before the sun had reached 
the centre of the heavens, many a thicket had been explored, and 
many a hill climbed in quest of the foe, and while they are pursuing 
the enemy with increased vigilance, we will turn our attention to 
another part of our story. 

When Mary awoke the morning after her interview with Edward, 
the first thought that entered her mind was the event of the past night. 
She arose quickly and sought for the dog which had followed the mys- 
terious figure the preceding evening, when upon looking around her, 
she beheld him a short distance off, apparently in the last agonies of 
death. She flew to him and conveyad him to the cottage, w,here the 
utmost* care was taken of him, and through the kind attention of 
Mary, he was soon restored to consciousness. It was to be seen that 
the dog had had a fearful encounter with some person or thing he had 
followed into the woods, and in the affray he had received a wound 
in the head. He soon revived however, and by his pleasant and 
sparkling eye seemed to thank his kind mistress for all the care she 
had bestowed upon him. Mary now gave her father a minute des- 
cription of all that had taken place the night before, and also informed 
him of the departure of Edward Mitchell. The old man was much 
astonished at the appearance of the figure to Mary, but told his daugh- 
ter that it could be nothing else save the imagination of her wander- 
ing senses. But Mary knew too well that it was real, and as her 
father was of a feeble constitution, and nearly confined to the house, 
she formed the heroic resolution of going herself and examining the 
woods and if possible clearing up the mystery which seemed to hang 
over her head. Without mentioning her object to her father, she 
carefully possessed herself of the old family musket and glided softly 
from the house. Having travelled a short distance, she perceived a 
person advancing rapidly towards her. The first impulse she received 
was to fly to the house, but it was impossible, for the person would 
overtake her before she could reach it, and she concluded to wait pa- 
tiently the result. But w'hat was her astonishment when the person 
came near, she found it was the negro, the favorite domestic of the 
old gentleman. 

‘God bless you, missus Mary,’ exclaimed the black, nearly out of 
breath. ‘ God bless you, but — O — Fve seen — the Devil, missus.’ 

At first the attitude of the negro seemed to frighten her, but upon 


14 


MNEOMl : OR, 


his finishing this sentence, her fear changed to an immoderate fit of 
laughter. 

‘ You may laugh, missus, but it be de truth, and de debil’s truth, if 
it was not. O — what a — devil of a tail he hab,’ cried the negro almost 
dead with fright, his eyes starting from their sockets, and his cheek 
seemed to look pale through its coal black covering. 

‘ Well Pete, I am now going in search of this very, same devil, will 
you accompany me and help me punish him for frightening you 
so ?’ 

For a moment the negro seemed to be in doubt whether to go 
or not, but he thought with so valiant a leader as Mary there could be 
no danger, so he answered in the affirmative. 

* Yes, Pete follow missus Mary any where she please to "go ; but 
Pete hope she wont please to go far m the woods ; but if she does, 
Pete will follow ; but if she wont go, I am really ’fraid my Massa 
wants me, — hark, seem uf I hear um call, — I ’bleve I did, — I must go 
’mediately.’ 

' Very well, if you are afraid to go with me, you can return to the 
house,’ exclaimed Mary. 

‘ No, me not afraid to go, I guess he no call de nigger. I will go 
wid you, but Pete hope missus wont expose herself to any — ’ 

‘ You need not fear for me, but have you concluded to run the risk 
of following me to the woods V 

‘Yes,’ cried the negro, for he had screwed his courage up to the 
sticking point. ‘ Yes, me go wid you and be he de devil, or de debil’s 
angels, me not ’fraid of dem,’ and he hauled from his pocket a knife 
which although the edge had nearly found its way to the back, yet it 
still resembled a knife, and the wooden handle, together with the 
wooden rivet fashioned by Peter made it withall quite a desirable wea- 
pon for him in this extremity. Elevating it above his head and givincr 
it some wonderful cut and thrust motions in the air, he vented his 
courage in the following eloquent strain : 

‘ Furrah ! Furrah ! Now for cutting off de devil’s head, down wid 
de debil, up wid missus Mary. Furrah ! Furrah ! and de debil take 
de luck,’ cried he, for in his excitement, he minded not the construc- 
tion of the words, but vented them just as they came to his mouth. 

‘ There, that will answer Peter,’ said Mary, ‘ if you can manage to 
keep your courage with you, there will be no danger, but I fear it will 
all leave you at the moment you enter the woods.’ 

The negro immediately followed the steps of the girl and said no 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 


15 


more, for he felt that what Mary had said relative to his courage was too 
true. They approached the woods and proceeded some ways into the 
interior before any thing transpired to arrest their attention, the negro 
being very careful not to get very Hfar in advance of Mary, and at every 
noise would take particular care to tall in the rear. After searching 
for some time they heard a noise which caused even the heroic Mary 
to shrink with fear. Soon an object was seen to move the bushes, 
and presently from a thick grove of underwood, a huge panther was 
seen to advance with slow and measured pace, when seeing Mary and 
the negro, he commenced a fierce growl, which would have driven the 
senses from almost any girl but Mary Forrest. But not so with her, 
for she knew that her safety and perhaps her life depended upon her 
courage, and grasping firmly in her hands the musket, she coolly 
waited the movements of the terrible animal. After tearing the ground 
with his claws, and making the woods resound with his yells, he gath- 
ered himself for the fatal spring. The negro now becoming much 
frightened by the fierce and savage grows of the beast, uttered a cry 
of horror which immediately drew fits attention from Mary to himself. 
One terrific scream from the terrible beast, one groan from the unfor- 
tuna.te black, and his senseless and inanimate form was firmly clutched 
in the claws of the panther. After handling him in a somewhat rough 
manner, he hurled him with mighty force against a tree, and turned 
his attention to the girl, and with a scream more terrible, if possible, 
than the rest, sprang upon Mary, but ere he had fairly cleared the 
ground, a flash was seen, the sharp crack of the rifle and the whiz- 
zing of the bullet was heard, and the terrible beast lay lifeless at the 
feet of Mary. Having satisfied herself that life was extinct, she turned 
her attention to the negro who was vainly endeavoring to rise. She 
ran to assist him, and as she did so, she heard another noise which 
again caught her attention, upon looking around, powers of mercy ! 
what did she behold? There in all his savage coolness, stood the ter- 
ror of the Connecticut; the brave and daring Mneomi. She instantly 
raised her empty gun to defend herself, but it was useless, ere she 
could bring her weapon to bear against him, she was enshrouded in 
the gigantic embrace of the savage. 

‘ Hah V exclaimed the Indian in a tone which more resembled a 
voice from the lower regions than that of a human being, ‘ the pale 
face at last rests in the arms of the red man, and never shall she re- 
cline in the embrace of the white man again. For the blood which 
thy lover’s friend caused to flow from these veins, cries for revenge. — 


16 


MNEOMl : OR, 


Thy lover is now in pursuit, but I will elude his efforts and cause him 
more bitterly to denounce the Eagle Eye. Yes, my heart cries for 
revenge and never will the revenge of Mneomi be satisfied till the blood 
of the wife and the betrothed shall rise Irom the burning pile and float 
serenely on the breeze to the red man’s God.’ 

‘Will the red man slay the maiden who has always befriended his 
people?’ said Mary, collecting all the courage she possessed. 

‘ Does the tribe of Mneomi need protection, are they not the most 
powerful on the Connecticut? Yes, the Great Spirit protects them, 
and he it is who calls for revenge. Yes, the ground where the blood 
was spilt cries revenge ^ — the oaks through which Mneomi roves, cry 
revenge ^ — his blood rises from the earth and in solemn and dtath-like 
whispers calls for revenge ^ — and ere the great day-star shall have twice 
again repeated its course, the ashes of the pale face maiden shall rest 
beneath the mound.' 

He gave a shrill whistle and immediately four savage looking war- 
riors, a pattern of their chief, rushed in from the bushes. 

‘ Conduct this maiden,’ said he, ‘to the camp of the red man, and 
let not a hair of her head be injured until the Eagle Eye com- 
mands,’ and he strode haughtily away. His command was instantly 
obeyed, and the trembling girl washunued away. The Indian walked 
proudly away and as he vanished from sight he again burst forth in 
acclamations of joy : 

‘ Now my aim is attained, no one is aware of my intention, and be- 
fore the husband and lover shall know their loss, their dearest friends 
shall slumber in the grave. O thou Great Spirit ! permit thy son to 
strengthen his revenge by meeting with the husband and lover. May 
he meet them hand to hand and face to face, and may his battle axe 
drink deeply of their hearts' blood.’ 

As he uttered the last sentence, a shriek reached his ear. He 
sprang quickly forward, and in a moment learned the cause of it. 
Mary, overcome by grief and fatigue, was sinking to the ground, 
when she received a blow from one of the Indians wdiich felled her 
senseless to the earth. 

‘ Show' me the dastardly red man who is guilty of this outrage,’ 
cried Mneomi, while fire flashed from his piercing eye. 

‘ Innocent !’ exclaimed three in a breath. 

In an instant the Indian was on his knees begging for mercy ; but 
it was too late, the deed had been done, and an arrow from the uner- 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 


17 


ring bow of Mneomi pierced his heart, and he fell a lifeless corpse. 

(See Engraving.) 

‘ So perishes the unfaithful warrior ( said Mneomi, ‘ his body iies 
there, but his spirit is in the region of darkness. The command of 
the Eagle Eye has been disobeyed, and the arrow of Mneomi has 
punished the affront. Let the command again be issued, carry that 
maiden to the camp, let her be restored to reason, an(^ let the least 
violence be done her, and again shall Mneomi’s arrow tell.^ 


CHAPTER III. 


The two little parties of friends toiled on with unabated ardor until 
the sun had nearly passed from sight in the w^estern horizon, before 
anything occurred worthy of mention. At last the party commanded 
by Edward Mitchell, and the one which had gone up the river, came 
upon a trail which appeared to be fresh and new. Edward now com- 
manded them to use the utmost caution, as it was necessary to en- 
sure them success. They now proceeded for some time cautiously 
forward, sometimes on their feet and sometimes the underwood so 
intervening as to oblige them to creep upon their hands and knees. 
They toiled on in this way until it was quite dark, and the thick, heavy 
clouds which overcast the heavens gave them very faint hopes of a 
pleasant evening. It had now become quite dark, and as they were 
plodding along, they knew hardly where, Edward thought he perceived 
a light, but far in the distance. 

‘ Now,’ said he, * let every man grasp firmly his weapon, and await 
in silence while I shall go and reconoitre.’ 

All noise was now hushed, and £dward, taking with him two of his 
companions, proceeded forward in the direction of the light. They 
had gone but a short distance when they heard a footstep near them. 
Upon looking around, they beheld an Indian creeping stealthily for- 
ward It was evident he had been sent by his chief to ascertain 
whether his enemies were in pursuit, but by the careless way in which 
he moved they were perfectly well assured that they had not been 
discovered, so still and careful had been all their movements. 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT, 


19 


*0, the red divil/ said one of Edward’s men, and he cast a meaning 
look to Edward and raised his gun to his shoulder, but the expression 
of Edward’s face, and the glance he gave in return, caused him imme- 
diately to lower it to his side. They followed the Indian carefully 
along, and soon they distinctly saw their fires. There were the Indians 
leisurely and carelessly stretching themselves before the fire, to enjoy 
a refreshing sleep after their weary journey, and as they supposed, 
with none to molest, having been assured by their scout that all was 
well, and that no enemy were in pursuit. 

Seeing the position of the savages, his attention was next turned to 
see whether or not he could discover any movements relative to the 
prisoners, the unfortunate wife and child. He searched with his eye, 
every bush, place and object which could give him any information, 
but he could not perceive the least sign that indicated their presence. 
He gave up his search and was returning, when a rustling was heard, 
and scarcely three rods from where he and his companions stood, the 
leaves parted, and conducted by two savage looking Indians were the 
wife and child of his friend, Charley Hale. The first impulse he re- 
ceived was to rush forward and tear them from their savage conductors ; 
but a second thought taught him better, for he knew it would be almost 
madness to attempt the thing. Therefore, he watched wdth silent 
anxiety further proceedings from the enemy. They led, or rather car- 
ried their unfortunate victims to a place near one of their fires. 
There she was permitted to sit down, but was bound with strips of bark 
firmly to a small hickory tree, and then stirring the fires, laid 
themselves carelessly down by the side of their companions, The 
head of the female sank sadly upon her bosom, and gazing upon the 
sweet and innocent cherub which Lay sleeping in her lap, the emotions 
of her heart were too deep to conceal, and the tears of grief and sor- 
row flowed profusely down her pale, yet beautiful cheeks. Such a 
sight as this was too much for the tender and affectionate heart of Ed- 
ward, and turning away in tears, he returned with his companions in 
silence to the party. For a while, grief seemed to predominate over 
every other feeling they possessed, but Edward soon aroused them for 
the onset. 

‘ Now is the time,’ said he, ‘ to strike the decisive blow, and liberate 
our friends; our only safeguard is courage ; let us rally then, in all 
our native strength, sound the war-cry of the yankees, and never may 
we retire until our aim be attained. Let us persevere in our object ; 
let our weapons drink the heart’s blood of our savage foes, and while 


20 


MNEOMI :OR, 


life lastSy never may we release them until the wife and child of our 
friend &hall rest in his embrace !’ 

They drank deeply of the words Edward uttered, and the instant 
they were finished they were prepared for the attack. They advanced 
slowly and carefully upon their adversaries, and so still and silent had 
been their movements that their enemy was not aware of their ap- 
proach. 

Not a movement was made by them for an attack, until wfitbin a 
few rods of the Indians, After tl^y came to the spot designated by 
Edward, they came to a dead stop ; not a noise was heard. The In- 
dians lay transfixed in a deep sleep ; all was still as the house of death, 
lill the flash of many rifles lit up the woods, and the ring of the dis- 
charge went booming on the air like the sound of distant thunder. 
The savages aroused from their slumbers by this well directed act were 
thrown into utter confusion, and before they could collect themselves 
sufficiently to return the fire, another discharge from the gallant little 
band sent many of their braves to their long homes. But the savages 
were soon organized, and nothing w'as heard save the whizzing of the 
arrows and the crack of the rifles, as they flew through’ the woods. 
The Indians were now gathering in great numbers from the woods, 
and the whites saw with dismay, that they consisted of ten times as 
many warriors as they supposed. 

The Indians were now fast gaining the ascendency, and the gallant 
party were fast retreating before the swarming herds of savages. But 
the determined courage of Edward could not be prevailed upon to 
relinquish his object. He rushed forward, shouted with all the mad- 
ness of despair, and urging them on, prayed them not to yield. The 
men, seeing Edward’s feelings, formed themselves once more, and 
rushed on again to the attack. They received and returned the enemy’s 
fire with undaunted perseverance, until they were completely over- 
powered by the immense number of their antagonists. They fled in 
great disorder through the woods, closely pursued by the Indians, 
while the shrill war-whoop reverberated heavily through the forest. 
They were some ways before they were allowed a moment’s time to 
see their forlorn and helpless condition ; it was but for a moment, for 
the savages rushed on again with renewed vigor. 

Hark, another noise is heard ! A scream is 'heard. ‘ To the res- 
cue ! To the rescue !’ The tramp of many footsteps are heard upon 
the leaves ; the bushes quickly part, and Charley Hale and his valiant 
companions rush swiftly from the bushes. They had arrived just in 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 


21 


time to save the remnant of Edward’s scattered band ; but a moment 
elapsed before the woods again resounded with the howling of the 
savages, and voices of the two commanders as they urged their men on 
to the contest ; soon the cheering sound ‘ they run ! they run !’ sounded 
in the air, and the Indians were seen flying in every direction. 

‘ Now for the rescue,’ said Charley. 

‘ Now for saving the wife and child of our friend !’ cried Edward, 
and the woods resounded with the loud shouts of the triumphant 
whites. 

They followed the Indians with increased vigil ance, for their object 
was neatly accomplished. The persons for which they had so anxiously 
sought were close at hand, and would soon be released, to gladden 
again the happy homes. The Indians were now flying faster than 
they had before pursued, and the little band was soon at their camps ; 
the red men now rushed hurriedly past, but the whites pursued no 
farther, for the sweet beings of their search were there. Edward ran, 
accompanied by Charley, to the place where the captives were bound, 
and were upon the point of loosing the bands which bound the help- 
less sufferers, when a giant form rushed from the covert of the trees, 
and with a war club prostrated the two men to the ground, seized the 
captives, and before the rest of the men could reach the place, he had 
vanished, with his victims, from sight. 

The two young men were already on their feet, being stunned only 
for a moment by the shock, but they were too late, the Indian was gone. 
What vows of revenge burst from the lips of the frantic lather as 
he beheld his wife and child again torn from his embrace. He invok- 
ed the Almicfhty’s aid, and with streaming eyes upturned to Heaven, 
swore eternal vengeance upon Mneomi and his cursed tribe. Words 
cannot express his anguish as he again saw his all torn from him. 
He screamed, tore his hair, and in the agonies of despair prayed his 
breath might be taken from him. All at once, however, he bpcame 
calm and with eyes starting from their swollen sockets, looked round 
upon his trusty followers. In a moment his features lighted up, his 
face resumed all its wonted familiar expression, and sinking upon his 
knees, he exclaimed : 

‘ Oh God ! forgive the first vain wish of a bereaved man. Oh, for- 
give the words spoken in despair. No, I do not wish to die ; may I 
yet have life granted me ; may I yet endure, to pursue to death this re- 
Jentles.* foe. May my body never rest, my mind know no comfort till 


22 


MNEOMl: OR, 


the blood of Mneomi shall smoke front the ground, and the bosom 
of Nature be freed from the tread of so vile a being.’ 

Charley soon grew more calm, and they commenced forming new 
plans for the recovery of the captives. After consulting awhile, it 
was agreed that they should remain where they then were through the 
night to refresh themselves, and take care of those who had been so 
unfortunate as to be wounded in the battle. After gathering the woun- 
ded together, and making them comfortable, they began to prepare 
their evening hieal. Their own provision being nearly gone, they 
found, by search, that the enemy had left a large quantity, which was 
now a very desirable addition to their little stock. When their refresh- 
ments were nearly ready, a footstep was heard in the neighboring 
thicket, which started every man to his feet. Edward, who with one 
other young fellow was reclining on the ground near the place from 
whence the noise proceeded, sprang to his feet and was about to seize 
his rifle, but before it was in his grasp, a huge animal burst from the 
bushes, and ere he could avail himself of aid, bounded furiously upon 
him. His friend seized his knife from his girdle, and raising it on 
high, was about to plunge it to the heart of the beast, but before the 
knife had reached its destination, it was thrust aside by the arm of Ed- 
ward, and it flew into the neighboring bushes ; he threw his arms 
around the body of the animal, and he clasped in his embrace the beau- 
tiful form of his taithful old dog. Brave. 

‘ Oh Brave,’ exclaimed Edward, ‘ why are you here V 

The dog instantly crouched at his master’s feet, and his joy seemed 
to turn to the deepest sorrow. He looked up into his master’s face 
and by the earnest expression of his eyes, gave him to understand that 
all was not right. 

‘ What can be the matter,’ said Edward, ‘ surely something is 
wrong.’ 

He looked again at the dog, and he slowly raised himself from the 
ground, and moved quickly off to the woods. He soon returned con- 
ducting a young man, and bringing up the rear was a personage we have 
before noticed in this narration, namely. Black Pete, who had return- 
ed from the woods, on that eventful day, bearing but a few scratches 
which were given him by the panther, and covered with mud and 
glory. 

‘ Henry Mason,’ cried Edward, as he rushed forward and grasped 
the hand of the new comer. 

But soon his joy was change^ ^o sorrow, for Henry brought news of 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 


23 


the capture of Mary Forrest. In a moment the face of Edward 
turned to an ashy paleness, and wringing his hands he cried : 

‘ O Heaven, does the fiend desire another victim to satisfy his re- 
venge? Would to God I could myself suffer for these innocent vic- 
tims. But the Almighty will work all things for ,the best, he will call 
ere long the savage to retribution for his damnable crimes. O, Father, 
nerve my arm for the battle, and grant that before my eyes be again 
closed in slumber, the earthly body of Mneomi shall lie bleaching in 
the noonday sun.’ 

Edward could hardly content himself to remain until morning ; but 
he was persuaded by his companions to stay, as the heavens were 
overcast with thick, heavy clouds, and nothing was heard save the 
thunder as it rolled sullenly in the distance, and the hoarse howling 
of the wild beasts as they roamed the gloomy forest. At the first ap- 
pearance of morn, they were ready to march in pursuit. Edward 
commissioned the negro to assist the wounded to return towards their 
homes, while himself and his KJornpany were off at break of day, de- 
termined, that ere the sun had again traversed its daily journey, they 
would free the innocent captives in the power of the Indians. 

Brave also commenced his journey, not towards home, but by keep- 
ing proudly by the. side of his master. Entreaties were made by Edward 
to the dog, to induce him to return ; but he was inexorable, for he 
seemed to know his own business best, and for once in the course of 
many years was he allowed to disobey. 




I 


CHAPTER IV, 

The sun had nearly reached the meridian of noon, whe/i Mary For- 
rest recovered her senses after being struck by the brutal savage. — 
She found herself in the camp ot the savages, and guarded by six men 
who appeared to be all there was belonging to this party. The instant 
she was sufficiently recovered to form an idea of what was going on 
around her, she looked for Mneomi, but he was not there, she searched 
every face of her captors to see if she could not discern a look of pity 
from some one, but she sought in vain, their faces all bore the sa^e 
uniform savage expression. Soon one more person was seen advanc- 
ing to join the party, as he approached, the person of Mary trembled 
as do the poplar leaves when the night breeze glides slowly through 
them, and surely she was not to be blamed, for few, very few were the 
young men of the valley who could withstand the glance of that pierc- 
ing eye. It was Mneomi just returned from his walk in the woods. — 

As he came near he saw JVIary’s eyes were bent sadly upon 
the ground. For a moment he ceased his inward cogitations, -and 
seemed to be gazing at the symmetrical form and beautiful features of 
the girl. The sparkling black eye, the red cheek looking so fresh 
and beautiful, the rich curly black hair as it fell loosely upon the j 
shoulders of Mary, seemed to rouse in him a passion which he had 
never before experienced. 

‘ Mneomi’s people may now leav^ their chief for a short time, but 
before the shining sun shall centre in the heavens, the followers of 
the Eagle Eye must again be prepared to journey after their tribe, who 
have ere this; ascended a long distance up the valley of the Q,.uonnec^ i 
ticut.’ 




THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 


25 


The Indians now left, and were soon hidden in the distant shrub- 
bery, and Mneomi with a savage triumph beaming upon his brow, ap- 
proached the shrinking maiden. Seeing that the thongs were bound 
tightly around the wrist of the girl, he drew a knife from his girdle 
and gently severed them apart 

‘ Does the red man require the life of the pale faced girl,’ said Mary ; 

* will he never again permit the daughter of the white man to behold 
her father and mother, will he never again allow her to visit the home 
of her childhood, to wander amid the flowers of summer, and rest her- 
self beneath the wide spreading oak, and'to hearken to the sweet carol 
of the birds as they skip merrily from bough to bough?’ 

‘ The word of Mneomi has passed, and the word of Mneomi can 
never be recalled. The white man pierced the bosom of the Indian 
with his own knife, the lover of the pale face girl unites with him to 
slay the red man, and the wife and the betrothed must suffer. They 
must die with the eye of Mneomi resting upon them in the agonies of 
death.’ 

‘Never, while the hands of Mary Forrest are at liberty,’ cried the 
girl, and seizing a knife from the girdle of the savage, was upon the 
point of driving it to her heart, when he snatched it from her 
grasp. 

‘ Nay, the pale face can never die by her own hand, she must perish 
by the decision of our warriors. But would the maiden change her 
situation, would she relinquish her friends and the cowardly lover who 
seeks her hand, to become the bride of the Eagle Eye?’ 

The girl answered not, for so completely were her feelings worked 
upon, that she thought of nothing else save the situation she was in. — 
The Indian mistaking her silence for acquiescence in his plans, 
proceeded on, and soon Mary perceived the drift of his artful 
speech. 

‘ The pale faced maiden will be tormented on the burning pile, 
sooner than become the bride of the hated red man,’ said Mary, while 
a smile of contempt lit up her beautiful eye. 

‘ Beware P exclaimed the Indian coolly, placing his finger upon his 
lip ; ‘ thou knowest not the spirit of the red man.’ 

‘ I know what thou hast just assured me of, that I must die, and 
more than that thou canst never inflict.’ — ‘Let the maiden for a mo- 
ment contrast the difference between dying upon the burning pile, and 
beino' the red man’s bride. Picture his home, his bride shall have ser- 

o 

yants to wait upon her, through the long day, and each and every one of 


26 


• MNEOMl: OR, 


the tribe of the Eagle Eye shal worship the wife of their most high 
chief Again, imagine the flames as they rise from the blazing pile 
pervading the air, and you feel nothing but its heated and scorching 
rays while it rises and tears piece by piece from thy body, until it 
leaves nothing but thy ashes to waste away in the Autumn breeze. — 
Hast thou decided 1 See the arms of the red man are open to receive 
thde,’ said the savage approaching the girl. 

‘ Villain, keep thy distance,’ cried she, and with a grasp quicker 
than lightning, seized the tomahawk from the Indians hands, ‘although 
I am in thy power, yet neter ishall my person be polluted by thy un- 
earthly touch, never while the breath of Mary Forrest remains, shall 
you accomplish your hellish purpose. One step farther, seek once 
morel to lay hands upon me, and I will bury the tomahawk in thy 
brains.’ 

‘ Hah !’ exclaimed the Indian, ‘ does the maiden think to baffle the 
designs of the savage, if that is thy intention, banish it from thy mind, 
and seek no more to terrify the Eagle Eye. No, thou must abide the 
decree of Mneomi. He it is who now speaks, and when Mneomi 
speaks who dares to disobey I Does not the panther, as he catches 
the eye of the red man’s chief, slink sullenly away? And the bear, as he 
sees the glistening of Mneomi’s arrow, crouch silently down ? And 
even the warriors of Mneomi, do they dare disobey ? No. Full well 
they know that death would meet them in the face. Yes, the white 
squaw shall now become the Indian’s bride, and ’ 

‘ One step more and you die !’ said Mary, as the the savage, stepped 
towards her. 

‘ Think not to intimidate me ; the red man’s arms shall yet encircle 
thee and bear the to his home.’ 

As he said this he sprang forward towards the girl. In an instant 
the tomahawk was in the air ; but the savage was on the alert, and he 
succeeded in jumping safely from under it. 

‘ By all the powers of darkness,’ cried he, ‘ you shall die.’ And 
seizing his knife he rushed forward to plunge it to her heart; but ere 
he had given the fatal blow, a thought seemed to strike him and the 
weapon which had been lifted to drink the heart’s blood of the girl, 
sank slowly and steadily to his side. 

‘ It will do no credit,’ said he, ‘ to the name of Mneomi, to slay thee. 
No, that must not be, you must accompany the red man to the death- 
stake instead of his wigwam—’ 


27 


THE INDJAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 

t 

‘ A thing which I very much prefer,’ said Mary, as she rudely threw 
the weapon away with which she had so bravely defended her honor. 

‘ I would sooner be torn piece by piece from the burning pile, than to 
be the wife of so miserable a being as thou art.’ 

•Hah! sayest thou so? Well so it shall be. Thanks be to the 
Great Spirit for inventing so sweet a revenge. Yes, thou has said it, 
and when to-morrow’s sun is sinking to rest beneath the western 
horizon, thy own sentence shall be executed. Yes, one by one shall 
the warriors of the Eagle Eye tear thy limbs from thy body, while, 
sweetly singing, the hissing flames shall rise and curl around thy burn- 
ing carcass, and the air shall resound with the sweet mingling of thy 
dying groans !’ 

The blood of Mary ran cold, and her fi*ame trembled ; but she did 
not shrink, a sweet voice seemed to whisper in her ear, saying cheer 
up, put thy trust in the Lord, and all will yet be well. The Indian 
gave a shrill scream, and in a moment the before mentioned savages 
stood before him. 

‘ Prepare for the march,’ cried he, ‘ the shining orb has already at- 
tained its resting place in the sky, and ere it fades from sight, we 
must overtake the rest of our braves. Let the pale-face be conveyed 
swiftly and carefully forward, and let not a word be spoken, or a 
glance exchanged, until our journey be completed.’ He then left them 
and they proceeded silently on, conveying their disheartened prisoner. 
For nearly five hours did they pursue their dreary way before they 
came upon the trail of the other party, they having taken a circuitous 
route from the river. About half past five the fearful Indian chief 
again made his appearance and bade them hurry forward, as other 
tracks than those of their companions, had been observed on the 
leaves, proceeding on in the same direction. 

O, how the heart of Mary bounded within her, as she heard this 
piece of intelligence. 

‘ Yes,’ said she to herself, ‘ it is, it must be Edward. I shall be 
rescued, — I am safe.’ 

* Let not the pale faced maiden rejoice, for now the lover too will 
suffer, he can never escape. Yes, the eye of Mneomi, like the great 
American Eagle as it soars on high at noonday and seeks carefully for 
his victim, shall wander through the forest, and the w^hite man shall 
wither beneath his glance. Yes, and before to-morrow’s sun shall 
sink calmly in the West, the lover and his betrothed shall render up 
their souls to the Great Spirit.’, 


I 


28 


MNEOMl : OR, 


> 

Mary trembled as she thought of the dangerous situation in which 
herself and her lover were placed ; but summoning all her courage, 
and putting her trust in the God of Mercies, she succeeded in calm- 
ing the emotions which so deeply affected her. It was soon dark, and 
they were fast approching the other party of warriors, but in a far dif- 
ferent situation than what is expected by the savage chief. Soon they 
came in sight of the fires ; but instead of finding the Indians reposing 
their wearied limbs before them, he found them flying before the vic- 
torious white men; instead of having, as he supposed, a safe hiding 
place for all his victims, he found the exulting Edward already un- 
binding the cords which fastened two of them, while he had brought 
the other within the power of the whites. But in an instant his re- 
volving mind invented a remedy. Ordering his men immediately to 
retire to the neighboring thicket with their prisoner, he himself, assist- 
ed by nothing else but his undaunted courage, formed the desperate 
idea of snatching the prisoners from their grasp, and rushing 
immediately forward, he succeeded in effecting his object in the 
the manner before mentioned. He conveyed his captives triumphant- 
ly to the thicket and gave them to his men, declaring his tomahawk 
should pierce their brains should they again relinquish their prize. 
Feelings better than words would describe the agonizing thoughts of 
the wife and mother, as she again beheld her husband and again was 
snatched so suddenly from his arms. She prayed to be liberated and 
with tears streaming down her pale cheeks besought the chief in the 
most heart stirring cries to release her from her distressed situation. 
For a moment the rigid features of Mneomi seemed to relax their 
savage expression, for the person of the beautiful woman upon her 
knees seemed to awaken pity in his breast. Alas ! It was but for a 
moment. 

‘ No,’ cried he, ‘ the red man’s wrongs can never be redressed but 
with the blood of the wife and child of his hated foe. No, you must 
die, and tliat before another day shall have passed away. Let them 
be borne swiftly forward,’ cried he and with a quick turn upon his heel' 
he vanished again from sight. Through the rest of the night did the 
weakened band of Mneomi travel, and when morning came, they 
lighted up a fire, and seated themselves to enjoy a few moments rest, 
for the flight of the preceding night, and the incessant toil which they 
had just experienced in fleeing from their enemy, had nearly subdued 
their usual savage aspect. When they were quietly seated, the Indian 
chief again made his appearance and spoke : ‘ Brave’s, the white men 


I 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 


29 


are again on the track now, and it depends upon your speed to escape the 
danger ; thousands of steps must be taken before you reach the rest of 
the Eagle’s tribe, but the thing can be accomplished if the trial be 
made, and then before the eyes of my faithful tribe of warriors shall 
the blood of these victims rise like sweet incense to the skies, and the 
pale faced coward shall return in sorrow to his desolate home. How 
sayest thou, will the work be done V 

‘ It will,’ cried they, ‘ our feet shall not again rest until we are in 
and under the protection of our braves. After partaking of a hasty 
meal, they again made preparations for their march, and when noon 
came, it found them hurriedly pursuing their way to the North to meet 
the rest of the warriors. But although the whites had remained still 
during the night, yet they had diligently improved the time lost by 
the Indians in the morning, and they were now fast gaining ground of 
their adversary. They well knew the danger they were approaching 
but the anguish 6f the bereaved' father and the heart-stricken lover 
seemed to nerve every arm firmly for the work, and they toiled inces- 
santly forward, determined to rescue the prisoners or die in the at- 
tempt. It was about three o’clock as Edward was walking silently 
and sadly on in advance of the party, he was aroused from his reverie 
by a noise near by, and a voice saying : 

‘ The Eagle Eye is abroad, let the white coward beware.’ 

He looked quickly up, and there directly before him stood Mneomi. 
He instantly brought his rifle to his eye, and quick as thought it dis- 
charged itself, but through his haste to despatch his victim, the rifle 
missed its intended mark, and the savage with a look which thrilled 
every nerve, darted forward in the woods, and was instantly hidden 
from view. 

How bitterly did Edward denounce the faithfulness of his rifle, but 
he was soon cool enough to know the reason of the failure. Nothing 
can describe the actions of ‘ Brave ’ as he saw the Indian ; he raved, 
tore the earth, and had it not been for the persuasions of his master, 
he would have yielded his life for the privilege of following the Indian, 
for his actions showed that for some time past he had been somewhat 
acquainted with this mysterious personage. 

‘ Be quiet. Brave ! Be quiet, we will yet have our revenge,’ cried 
Edward, and for the first time in the agonizing trial, did the tears 
flow freely down his manly cheeks. They now walked on in silence, 
but the sparkling eye and the quick tread of every one, spoke the la- 
borious task their hearts were undergoing. They were now swiftly 


30 


MNEOMl: OR, 


gaining upon their foe, and they were in hopes of being able to reach 
them before they could obtain assistance. But they were too late. — 
About 5 o’clock the savage band had reached the encampment of their 
warriors. But news were ready to greet the ears of Mneomi which 
little suited the mood he was then in. Nearly all of the warriors had 
left in the morning upon a hunting excursion, and had not yet re- 
turned. How savagely did Mneomi curse his departed warriors, and 
swore that the leaders should suffer the worst of deaths. 

‘ Let us immediately prepare for enjoying the sweet fruits of all our 
toil, let the faggots be brought, for the revenge of the Eagle Eyed 
Mneomi will now be accomplished,’ and fixing his fiend-like eyes upon 
his prisoners, seemed feasting his greedy gaze upon the picture. — 
Mary saw that the time had now arrived that was to separate her from 
those she held most dear. 

‘ O God,’ she cried, ‘ protect my parents, and grant that the play- 
mate of my earlier ’ sobs choked - her utterance,- her head sank 

feebly down upon her bosom, and she drowned her grief in a flood of 
unremitting tears. The wife of Charley was nearly overpowered and 
looking upon her sweet babe calmly sleeping in her lap, overcome by 
the fatigue its little limbs had experienced through the day, she seemed 
to forget her own situation in that of her lovely boy. She sank upon 
her knees before the unrelenting savage, and prayed him to take her 
own life, but besought him with all the eloquence of a mother’s tears 
to spare her child. 

‘ O spare him,’ cried she, ‘ burn my own body, but in the name of 
the Great Spirit you worship, in the name of Heaven, save, O save my 
child from death,’ and she sank exhausted before his eyes. He gazed 
with the utmost composure upon the heart-rending sight, and then 
raising himself up in all his majesty, spoke while the spirit of revenge 
and hatred lighted up his hideous visage : 

‘ Yes, I will save thy child, and when the father arrives, he shall 
have the satisfaction of seeing Mneomi knife separate his head from 
his body. Thus and thus only shall the father clasp to his bosom his 
infant child.’ 

‘ O, God forbid,’ cried the mother, and she sank senseless to the 
ground. 

Mneomi commanded her instantly to be raised and restored to 
reason, and ordered the faggots to be arranged immediately for the 
execution. In the meantime, the little band of trusty followers 
were rapidly approaching; but they had yet some distance to" go *ere 


31 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT, 

they could reach their hated enemy ; but they thought of the dan- 
ger of the prisoners, and hqpe made them strong, and they pushed for- 
ward with increased vigor. Meanwhile, the Indians were busy adjust- 
ing the funeral pile ; the dry sticks were concisely laid, and soon all 
was ready for the binding of the prisoners to the stake, and they were 
now brought forward and firmly bound to the pile. But their fading 
senses were so nearly gone that they scarcely saw their situation. 

‘ Be quick,’ said Mneomi, ‘ for the Eagle Eye is impatient to enjoy 
his revenge. On braves, why do you linger ? On with the torch 
quick, or Mneomi’s arrow shall drink thy own blood,’ cried the un- 
easy chief. 

Alas ! where are the friends of the sentenced ? They are but a 
shojt distance off ; they rush on with renewed speed. But ah ! make 
haste, or you will be too late; quick, or the spirits of your friends will 
have fled to that region from whence they will never return. The In- 
dian is now lighting the deadly torch; he stops to raise the flame by 
swinging it in the air, he does so, and it descends to light the dreadful 
pile. 

* Now for the red man’s revenge,’ shrieked Mneomi, and the whirl- 
ing torch again descended to its work ; it now reaches it ; but hark, 
whaf is that — it is the crack of a rifle — one shriek is heard from the 
Indian, his torch flies through the air, and he falls to the ground a 
ghastly corpse. 

‘ Mneomi’s death, our friends rescue !’ sounded in a breath ; the 
Indians started, and beheld the little company of their gallant pursuers 
upon them. They left their prisoners, and now having the savage 
Mneomi at their head, they fought like tigers for their prey. Now 
comes the trial of strength ; now the battle rages, and fighting face to 
* face stands the pursuer and the pursued. The Indians sound the 
shrill war-whoop, and rush on. The white men, although wearied 
much by fatigue, stand firmly the charge. The hated objects of their 
united and persevering pursuit now stand before their eyes. But they 
are nearly overcome by the long march they have just experienced, 
while the Indians are aided by a small number of fresh warriors ; but 
nevertheless they fight manfully and fearlessly, for they are determined 
to conquer ; but the Indians sustain the same mind also, of the whites. 
Alas! the little company are, seen to give slowly away before the 
red men. No sooner is it observed by the Indians, than they rush for- 
ward more impetuous than ever, and the whites yield before their des. 


\ ' 

32 MNEOMl : OR, 

perate pursuers, who quickly follow them. Edward starts between 
them and cries : 

‘ In the name of God, do not desist ; on my brave fellows, on to 
the charge !* 

They again quickened every nerve, and the Indians 'fled in their 
turn before the victorious whites ; all was now confusion, and to ap- 
pearance, the battle soon must end, as both parties were nearly over- 
come by fatigue. But still they fought on, and many were the Indi- 
ans that fell by the leaden bullets of their foe, and had it not been for 
their intrepid chief, Mneomi, they would have surely been vanquish- 
ed before the brave and determined charges of the white men ; but he 
was at their head, and they still fought on. 

Many times were the weary white men upon the point of yielding 
to the savages, when their heroic commanders would urge them on 
anew to the battle, and in the bitter anguish of their hearts pray their 
men to withstand the trial. At length the Indians gave way again, 
and despite the hoarse commands of Mneomi, fled before their enraged 
victors. It was now a moment of life or death, and the wearied and 
broken down white men were nearly ready to sink with fatigue. It 
was a moment of intense feeling ; scarcely a word' was uttered by 
either commander, so engaged were they in the work of death. At 
last the determined perseverance of the whites came off victorious, 
and the Indians gradually diminished before their brave and deter- 
mined fire. They were yet some distance from the encampment of the 
Indians, but they were already fast approaching the place where the 
prisoners were bound. 

Charley Hale led them firmly on, but where was Edward ? probably 
•fighting nobly some where, mused Charley ; but he was not to be seen, 
and Mneomi, he too was missing from the head of the warriors. But • 
his thoughts were too much engaged in his object to think of any 
other thing than the release of the prisoners. The Indians are still 
flying before them — they rush to their camps — the Indians all rush 
past with the exception of two — those two simultaneously rushed for- 
w'ard for the prisoners. One was far in advance of the other, and after 
the two, followed Charley Hale. 

The foremost one reached the victims — he stopped, and looking cooly 
back, said : 

‘ The burning pile was robbed of its burden, but the Indian’s toma- 
hawk shall do the work !’ He raised his weapon, but ere it had descen- 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 33 

(led to its fatal work, a bullet from the rifle of Charley sent him to his 
long home. 

Charley was now near the other warrior, but he too, seemed intent 
upon the death of the prisoners. He rushed forward to accomplish 
his work ; but he never reached the goal, for the breech of Charley’s 
musket cut his head in twain. Now every obstacle was overcome, 
and the almost crazy father ran forward, and seizing his knife, cut the 
cords that bound its victims. 

In an instant the wife and child of his bosom were folded in hig 
arms. The Indians had entirely vanished from sight, and the remnant 
of the gallant little band was hastening to receive the thanks of the 
rescued. They found the wife and child of Charley folded in his em- 
brace, but there sat the lovely Mary still firmly bound upon the pile. 
They immediately released her; but where was Edward? They all 
looked up in an instant. 

‘ Oh God !’ cried Mary, and pointing her finger to the sight, sank 
senseless upon the ground. There, about fifty rods distant, were 
the two deadly enemies, Edward Mitchell and the blood-thirsty Mneo- 
mi fighting face to face. In a moment every one was on the way to 
assist him ; but alas ! they are too late. Already is the robust body of 
the Indian upon the bosom of Edward. He draws his knife from his 
bosom, red with the blood of other victims, and disregarding the ad- 
vance of the whites, (for he well knew they could not reach him before 
it was too late) gently lifting it above his head, he exclaimed ; 

‘ Now is the red man’s revenge complete. Look down, thou Great 
Spirit, and see the reward of Mneomi’s labors ; his aim is attained ; 
his mind is at rest, and his revenge is sa ’ 

Satiated, he would have said, his arm was swiftly descending to the 
w^ork, some thing rushed powerfully against him and drove it so far 
one side as to send the dagger he had aimed at Edward’s heart, to 
its very hilt in the soft earth. A piercing shriek was heard — the 
savage heaved a deep and heavy groan — the blood gushed in torrents 
from his throat — Edward sprang to his feet ; but what a sight ! F rom 
the mouth of his faithful and trusty old dog Brave, hung streaming 
with gore the wind pipe of the Eagle Eyed Mneomi. Yes, there lay 
his body, but his spirit had winged its flight to the God who gave it, 
and his body would soon return to the dust from whence it came. 
Another shriek and Mary rushed into her lover’s arms. Her heart 
was too full for utterance, and she could only testify her joy by the 
streaming eyes and heaving bosom. Sogn Edward broke the silence : 


34 


MNEOMl : OR, 


* My friends, we have accomplished our aim, we have been victori- 
ous beyond our utmost expectations, and may God reward you as you 
deserve.’ The stifled sigh was hushed, and ‘ Praise God,’ burst from 
every lip. 

The wounded were gathered together, and they proceeded joyfully 
on their way home, and as they again met on the next day, at their 
neighborhood, not an eye was dry, and from every tongue burst, ‘ Truly, 
O God, thy ways are wonderful, but thou forsakest not the wor'ks of 
thy hand in the chilling hours of adversity.’ 

******** 

Six years had past away after the commencement of our story, 
when upon a day, a traveler was seen journeying along through the 
valley of the Connecticut. Stopping in a beautiful little grove of 
chestnut to rest for a few moments his wearied limbs, and allowing 
his horse to enjoy the same luxury, he saw through the bushes two 
handsome little cottages, and near them, diligently at work in a garden, 
a negro, while by his side stood a little boy, about the age of six or 
seven years, prattling in all his boyish innocence. The stranger, 
smitten by the sweet looks of things around him, lost no time in 
riding to where the negro was at work. 

‘ Can you tell me the history of these families?’ said he to the ne- 
gro. 

The negro looked surprised for a moment, but soon he exclaimed : 

* Wull, Pete can’t tell de gemman, but me guess dey habn’t got no 
such ting, for any rate Pete neber see no such ting on de farm, den 
me will ask massa.’ 

‘ No, you mistake my meaning,’ and seeing that the negro’s wit 
was not very expansive, he asked him : ‘ Can you tell me who lives 
here ?’ 

‘ Why sar, bless you, who should live here on dis farm but my Mas- 
sa Edward and Missus Mary? and massa’s friend livedar, — dis his boy. 

‘ And has your master no children ?’ asked the stranger. 

‘ Bless you, yes. But where de debil — what has ’come de gal, too ? 
Ah dare she be ; she be de best gal de nigger eber had ;’ and he gave 
a loud laugh which made the valley ring. As he spoke he pointed to 
a little tree, and under it lay the most beautiful picture eyes ever be- 
held. A little girl, to appearance about the age of three or four years, 
wrapped in a feound and quiet sleep. Little ringlets of her fglossy, 


THE INDIAN OF THE CONNECTICUT. 


35 


curly hair lay over her shoulders ; her cheeks wore the bright hues of 
health and beauty. Her left hand lay carelessly by her side, and 
clasped in her tiny fingers is a fresh boquet of flowers. Her right arm 
rests over our old former friend Brave ; who although time has greatly 
altered his appearance, yet he still remains to enliven the happy circle. 
On his neck is a silver collar on which is engraved, * The Father’s 
savior and the Mother’s friend.’ 

The stranger gazed a long time at the hoppy sight around him, and 
when he left he exclaimed, while tears filled his eye : 

* O may Trouble be a stranger and Grief be never known.’ 


THE BATSON COTTAGE 


BY MISS LESLIE. 



We present our readers with some extracts from the dairy of Miss 
Clementine Chelbourne, a young lady of sixteen, who with her mother 
had been spending a summer month at the principal hotel in a large 
and pleasant village, celebrated for the salubrity of the air, and the 
beauty andfertility of its surrounding country. The diary is addressed 
to a young friend in a distant place ; the writer faithfully fulfilling her 
promise of noting down every thing as it occurred. 

It is true, my dearest Lucinda, that we have excellent accommoda- 
tions at this hotel, and very good society. Many genteel people froin 
different places are spending the summer at Laureltown, which its 
inhabitants have not yet begun to designate as a city. Mamma is 
very happy here, and thinks of remaining till it is time for us to go to 
New York, and meet papa on his return from Europe, and settle down 
in our Philadelphia home till next summer. For my part, I have 
nothing to complain of at Laureltown but the entire absence of rural- 
ly. Hitherto all our summer excursions have been to fashionable 
watering-places and handsome villas ; so I have seen nothing of rustic 
life, and am really pining to find myself the inmate of a cottage — not a 
cottage ornee with parlors, and dining-rooms and breakfast-rooms, and 
boudoirs and conservatories, (such as we read of in English novels,) 
but a genuine chauviiere a la paysan. You Jcnow how I delight in 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


37 


the perusal of rural tales and rural poetry, (even to the oldest pastor- 
als,) and how convinced I am that cottages are the places where ‘ all 
the virtues most do congregate.’ Only think, I am sixteen years of 
age, and have never yet passed an hour under a thatchedToof. Mam- 
ma says I have very little chance of ever doing so in America. Well, 

T will not be too particular about the roof; and a shingled one would 
suffice if it were tolerably mossy, and a little broken, so as to be pic- 
turesque. I have been trying for a week past to persuade mamma to 
let us take boarding in some ‘ sheltered nook ’ somewhere in the most 
sequestered part of the adjacent country ; and she has almost promised 
to gratify me. Remembering always that she once was young herself, 
and (as my aunts tell me) rather imaginative, with quite as much fancy 
as judgment, my dearest mamma is a pattern of indulgence to the fol- 
lies (if indeed they are so) of her only and affectionate daughter. I 
am perfectly certain that she is right ; for I should not be half so af- 
fectionate if she was always checking and chiding, and contradicting 
and disappointing me, and regarding every little ctourderie as if it was 
to have awful consequences, and give a coloring to my whole future 
character Now I have lived long enough in the world to know (in 
spite of all the moral and instructive tales prepared for young people 
as true pictures of real life)that there are thousands of happenings with- 
out any consequences at all, and that every little thing does not lead 
to some great thing ; and that our daily history is not like a complica- 
ted machine, all wheel within wheel. You see, dear Lucinda, how I 
can philosophize. Some day I may come out a genius. And that 
will prove the truth of my new theory that there is no judging of the 
end from the beginning. But I am called off — mamma has just sent 
for me. 

Joy, joy, dearest Lucinda ! My kindest of mothers (who never for- 
gets that she was once a foolish girl herself) has commissioned our 
worthy host to inquire among the country people that supply market- 
ing, if he can obtain board in some small, quiet, rural ‘mansion of 
peace’ within a few miles of Laureltown. And Mr. Kingman (good, 
disinterested person) has just come up to say that he has found us a 
place. In a retired spot quite off the high road, there lives a widow, 
with a grown up niece, a daughter that is a little girl, and a son who 
is in his twentieth year. When her husband was living (hey occupied 
a good-sized stone house ; but after his death, as her son was then a 
little boy, she concluded to rent the farm, and live upon the rent, till 


38 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


the youth was old enough to take charge of it. And they removed to 
a small house in the neighborhood of the farm, a mere cottage with 
only one acre of ground. I wonder how large an acre looks when you 
see it. 

This negotiation had been going on for two days, with out my know- 
ledge ; by way of giving me an agreeable surprise if it succeeded, and 
preventing my disappointment if it did not. And yesterday afternoon 
when I was out angling with the Wilfords, mamma took a ride with 
Mr. Kindman to the place, and saw it ; and this morning the bargain 
was concluded, and the cottagers apprised that they might expect us 
to-morrow. 

There was some difficulty about the terms, which Mr. Kindman 
told mamma were quite too high. Pity that the vile dross called money 
should always be mixed into all our pleasures. How charming it would 
be could we go there as friends ; they receiving us at once into their 
hearts with open arms, and welcoming us beneath their hospitible 
roof And then in return (for we like to be generous) we might pre- 
sent them with a. silver vase (such as they could use for a tea-pot) 
with a complimentary inscription, which I should delight in writing 
myself 

I inquired about the young people who are now to be my compan- 
ions. Mamma had only seen the orphan niece whose name I find is 
Mary. I am glad it is nothing worse, I could never have reconciled 
myself to Rachel or Hannah. Common as Mary is, it seems to be ap- 
proved by the poets. I am sorry to understand that the people of our 
country (at least the white people) have no pastoral names among 
them, such its Phillis, Chloe, Damon and Colin. Alas ! we have no 
shepherds in America. None, at least, that pass their lives on verdant 
banks, beneath the shade of spreading trees, twining their crooks and 
their hair with garlands of flowers. Papa says there are no such shep- 
herds anywhere. He has told us of the first shepherd he saw in Eng- 
land, a clumsy, red-faced old man dressed in a coarse brown jacket, a 
dirty gray waistcoat, corduroy knee-breeches, leather gaiters, and hob- 
nailed shoes ; and that he was knitting blue yarn stockings instead of 
wreathing roses ; and he had no crook at all, but only a thick club of 
a stick, and an ugly big dog. 

Well, we will give up shepherds. I do not suppose any of our 
American countrymen could be content to sit all day and watch sheep. 
There must be some other way for our sheep-keeping. To be sure, if 
Yankees would be shepherds, they might whittle sticks all the time. 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


39 


I feel pre-disposed to love this youthful Mary. I have questioned 
mamma about her, but she is not very communicative ; wishing, 
as usual, to give me an agreeable surprise. I learn, however, 
that Mary is a blonde. I wish I was one. I have always regretted my 
dark hair and eyes. Still it is customary in novels and pictures for 
two fair friends or two loving sisteis to be of opposite complexions. 
One of them is dark-haired and energetic ; the other light-haired and 
mild. And yet, Lucinda, do you not recollect that Ella Roseby, the 
worst imp in school, had flaxen locks and sky-blue eyes. 

I like to imagine this cottage-Mary as one of those lovely things 
with fawn-like steps; and heartswelling-up in fountains of sweetness; 
and rosy smiles ; and ringing laughs and peach-bloom cheeks ; and 
golden hair gushing down their swan-like necks ; and dewy, violet 
eyes, or else large strange ones. Well — well — I shall know her to- 
morrow. 

I must lay down my pen, and commence the direful task of packing 
for removal. Oh, this ‘ worky-day world.' 

I was up this morning two hours before the first bell, to accustom 
myself to rising with the earliest blush of dawn, as soon as I commence 
life in a cottage. I looked out of my window, and saw the Jumper- 
ville stage start from the door of the hotel; and the grocer’s boy oppos- 
ite, opening the shop-windows. Then the shoemaker opened his, and 
then the tailor. Why must there be shoemakers? Why tailors? I 
know they are necessary evils. But then their trades are so unpictur - 
esque. They spoil the beauties of the rising day. Binding nothing to 
do when up (my packing having been finished last evening) I went to 
bed again. But as I was too much excited to sleep, I re-rose ; and 
early as it was, commenced what are truly called the labors of the 
toilet. Fortunately in the cottage the simplest costume will suffice. — 
* Robes loosely flowing, hair as free.’ 

We went to breakfast ; and sat down (the last time I hope till next 
summer) to a long long table set out with tea and coffee, and steaks 
and sausages, and oysters and omelets, and hot rolls. To-morrow 
morning I expect to banquet on honey and fruit and cream, (the cream- 
bowl decked with flowers,) and little delicious cakes of some sort, 

white as if made of snow. 

# * . . * * * * 

We have arrived at the cottage— the cottage of the Batson family. 


40 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


I am now sitting in my own room, and as the weather is too warm to 
do anything else, I will take the interval between this and dinner-time 
to proceed with my journal. You will like to know my first impres- 
sions ; but I flatter myself that first impressions are often deceptive. — 
Nous verrons. 

The cottage is very small. But so a real cottage ought to be. Its 
height is one story and a half. Its tint is of a quiet dark-brown diver- 
sified with blackish streaks. The boards of which it is constructed, 
have never been disguised by gaudy paint. I stipulated with mamma 
that we were not to have a white cottage — a glaring thing with green 
door and green fhutters. The roof is very sloping ; and continues to 
slope till it becomes also a roof for the front porch. I did not see 
much moss about it ; but a blanket was sunning upon it ; and a bol- 
ster and pillow lay out of the garret window. The porch roof is sup- 
ported by four pillars (commonly called posts) with a hop-vine running 
over them. I would rather it was an eglantine, or a woodbine, or a 
jessamine. Hops are doubtless useful ; but the leaves are so tattery, 
and dusty-looking, and the blossoms so remind one of beer. The 
windows of the cottage are few and far between, and differ very much 
in size and shape. This is rather an advantage, for if regular, they 
might look too stiff. I Mush, however, they were lattices with diamond- 
shaped panes, like the cottages in drawing-books and satin-pieces. — 
But I fear such windows are not to be expected in America, any more 
than straw-roofs. A strange thing protruded out from one side of the 
house (the side at which was the kitchen chimney.) It looked like the 
small domes in the panorama of Jerusalem. I found it to be a clay 
oven. I must tell you that the front of the cottage is shaded by a large 
mulberry tree (think of Shakspeare), and that a stream runs behind it. 
The garden is at one side, and the rest of the domain is a weedy yard 
with a chicken coop and a pump. I wish the pump was a well; or 
still rather a spring gushing from a rock. I had promised myself the 
delight of drawing water from the spring ; but there is no pleasure in 
pumping. 

As we approached the cottage, we saw glimpses of several persons 
gliding about ; but when we stopped at the door there was not a human 
being to be seen. We afighted from the carriage. Oar driver de- 
posited our baggage in the porch, mamma paid him, and he drove off. 
We then entered the dwelling of rural felicity. I had read of cottages 
where ‘ green rushes were strewed on the floor,’ but here we found 
that species of domestic carpet vulgarly called a rag-rug. There were 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


41 


not even rush-chairs ; but six tall narrow red-painted wooden ones. 
The window was not curtained with roses, but with green and yellow 
wall-paper. Near it hung a colored print representing a man in a 
black cap, and a blue coat with red cuffs, galloping violently on a red- 
dish horse, over a verdigris ground. The inscription beneath was 
* Jersey Blue.’ 

Presently there came and took her seat in a hard, high, painful 
looking, entire-wooden rocking chair, a thin, sun-parched little girl, 
about nine or ten years old, dressed in a tight, narrow, brown silk 
frock, (I fear it was made out of an old skirt,) trimmed with a scanty 
flounce. This dress made her look very hot, for it was high in the 
neck, and had long tight sleeves. Beneath it appeared pantaletes of 
large-cross-barred white muslin, frilled with the same, very much'blued 
and starched stiff. Round her neck was pinned a dingy, many-color- 
ed plaid silk handkerchief. Her yellow hair was platted very hard 
and strong, and tied about with a faded blue gauze ribbon. Stretch- 
ing out both hands so as to rest them on the arms of the chair, she 
commenced rocking with all her might ; stedfastly gazing at us in si- 
lence. She had really very large eyes, but I could not decide on their 
expression. 

‘ What is your name, my dear V said I. 

You know, dear Lucinda, I am generally amiable to children. 

* Sally Ann Batson,’ was the reply. 

* Will you be my little friend V said I, approaching her. 

* Yes, if you’ll give me three levies and a ftp,’ replied the child. 

* Why that sum exactly V inquired mamma, with a smile 

‘ Because it will buy me some artificials for my bonnet, just like 
Susan Brown’s.’ 

‘ Would not fresh, bloomiug flowers,’ said I, ^ be more becoming to 
rural innocence?’ 

^ Is it me that you call a rural innocent V said Miss Sally Ann Batson. 
^ That’s talking as if I were a baby.’ 

^ Would you not prefer beautiful real flowers,’ said L 

< No — not if you mean righty-dighty flowers. I wouldn’t be seen 
with such things in my bonnet. No, no — artificials is all the go. And 
three levies and a fip will buy me just such a bunch as Susan Brown’s. 
They have them down at the store.’ 

I immediately took out my purse, and gave her a half-dollar. Instead 
of flying to me wild with gratitude, and devouring my hand with kiss- 
es, she reached out for the money without leaving her seat. 


42 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


* I see you’ve plenty more in your purse,’ said she — ‘ I’d like you to 
give me a quarter-dollar besides, to buy a finger ring. They have beau- 
tiful ones at the store, all shiny like gold, with a sort of big bright 
diamonds in them, as red as fire.’ 

‘Will a quarter of a dollar make you really very happy?’ said I, 
giving her one. 

‘ Only middling. I cannot be very happy without a pair of white 
kid gloves to wear when I go to church.’ 

What a rapacious little thing ! I began to he disappointed in the 
cottage child ; and mamma made a sign for me to give her nothing 
more. 

Just then appeared our hostess, Mrs. Batson, dressed in the ugliest 
mousseline de laine I ever saw, and a cap overloaded with coarse cot- 
ton lace, and red-lilac gauze ribbon. She is a tall, thin, bony woman 
— very faded, but perhaps more through work than age. I thought 
there was a peculiar expression in her eyes, but I cannot now say of 
what sort. I shall study her character. I think it is communicative ; 
for she immediately told us (what we knew before) that she had been 
left a widow with two children (having lost seven), and that finding 
the farm too much for a lone woman to manage, she had rented it out 
to David Wheatley till her son Stephen came of age,and that its owner 
in the meantime was working with David Wheatley, and learning 
farming, so as to be ready to take his own place when he was twenty- 
one , as David was then going to move out west. So meanwhile, she and 
her family lived here upon her rent; and had besides, their own garden- 
truck, and pigs, and chickens ; and also a cow that picked up a good 
living along the road-side and in the woods. With all a mother’s 
laudable pride,' Mrs. Batson then proceeded to inform us that Stephen 
was counted very likely, (meaning that he was considered handsome) 
and that it was thought he might have his pick of all the girls in the 
neighborhood. 

‘ Next, Mrs. Baston informed us that she had living with her an or- 
phan niece named Mary Brent, who being her sister’s daughter, she 
had brought her up ; and that Mary was a very useful girl, helping 
with all the housework ; so that Sally Ann, being weakly, could be 
spared doing anything. I felt sorry to hear that Mary helped with the 
housework ; the idea is not agreeable. Her hands cannot possibly be 
white and delicate. 

Mamma then proposed adjourning to our rooms, and then expressed 


/ 


/ 


THE T5ATS0N COTTAGE. 43 

a desire to have our baggage carried up, as it still remained in the 
porch. 

‘ We han’t got no man or boy about the house,’ said Mrs. Batson. 
‘ I forgot to tell you when we were bargaining, that I keep no help — 
that is, no hired help. Stephen stays mostly at Dave Wheatley’s. If 
he was here he’d take up your things for you in a minute. Sally Ann 
dear, w'on’t you step over to black Jack’s, and tell him to come here, 
and carry up some trunks for these women. There’s a family of free 
niggers living just back of the lot,’ she continued in explanation, and 
we can get any of them to come and do jobs whenever we are at a 
none-plush.’ 

Sally Ann, after some hesitation, departed, and in a short time re- 
turned with black Jack, who carried up the baggage for us, and mam- 
ma paid him liberally. He was very thankful, pulled his front hair, 
scraped his foot, and said : ‘I give you great applause, ma’am. The 
ladies will please to ’member that whenever they want’s anything 
fetched or carried, or any arrants gone, I’m the man what they’re to 
look up to.’ 

Mamma went to her room, and Sally Ann followed me into mine ; 
and stood over me while I was unpacking my chief trunk ; inspecting 
its contents, and asking me all sorts of questions about them. I had 
to recollect that this must be perfectly natural in an unsophisticated 
child, brought up in a cottage , particularly when she combed her 
front hair with my dressing comb, and was proceeding to rub her teeth 
with my tooth brush, which I luckily snatched from her before it was 
too late. 

‘ What’s the matter V she exclaimed indignantly. ‘ What harm shall 
I do to your tooth brush V 

I then explained to her that a tooth brush could be only used by 
one person. 

‘ Well, if ever I heard the like,’ said she. 

‘ I began to fear that this cottage child might be too unsophisticated ; 
and yet I have a misgiving that in some things she is very cunning. 

‘Oh, what a pretty fan,’ said she, taking up my last new one, and 
flirting it open. ‘ It looks quite scrumptious when I fan with it. I 
expect it’s the one you carry to church. Won’t you make me a pres- 
ent of it ?’ 

‘1 think a plainer one would be more suitable to a little girl like 
you,’ replied I. 

‘ Oh, not a bit ! I hate plain things. Let me keep this !’ and fan-^ 


44 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


ning herself violently, she broke it at the important place where fans 
always break. ‘ There,’ said she, laying it down, ‘ I don’t want it now 
Broken fans an’t no use.’ 

I was much vexed — particularly as the fan was a very elegant one, 
and given to me by my dear Aunt Millington, on my last birth-day. I 
wish I had left it in town. 

‘ Don’t look so cross,’ said Sally Ann. ‘ I’ll be bound you’ve plenty 
of money to buy another. Oh ! what a pretty ribbon — and what a 
pretty bow to it. It will just do for me ’ — twining it round her^very 
perspiring neck. ‘You’ll give it to me, won’t you? You know you 
said you wanted me to be your friend.’ 

I gave her the ribbon and tried to think her excusable. 

After she had fingered everything she saw me unpack, and asked 
for several more articles that she fancied, (to which requests I made 
no reply) I summoned courage to say to her — ‘ Now, my dear Sally 
Ann, will you oblige me by going down stairs. I wish to be'alone till 
dinner-time.’ 

‘ La! wouldn’t you rather have me to keep you company? I hate 
to be alone.’ 

‘ No,’ I replied, ‘ I am going to write.’ 

‘ Who are you going to write to ?’ i 

‘ Never mind — I really wish you to leave me.’ 

‘ I’ll go, if you’ll promise to let me read the letter before you send 
it off. I’ve had plenty of schooling, and I can read writing very well, 
if it’s writ plain. I always like to read people’s letters, and so does 
(what a word for mamma or mother 1) 

I now began to lose all patience. ‘ Sally Ann,’ said I, ‘ I must in- 
sist on being alone.’ 

‘ So then,’ said she, — ‘you think my room’s better than my com- 
pany.’ 

‘ Go down,’ I replied in a peremptory tone. 

She then flung out of the room, and ran down stairs. As the doors 
were all open, I heard her say to her mother — ‘ Mumma, one of the 
strange women (the young woman) has been aggravating me. She 
han’t got a bit of manners. She won’t let me stay in her room. And 
she’s mean besides; for she wouldn’t give me nothing but this 
ribbon.’ 

‘ Her mother’s answer was in a suppressed voice, so that I could 
not distinguish the words, but I did not at all like the tone ; and 
warm as my room is, I went and shut the door. 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


45 


‘ I must lay down my pen, for I hear Mrs. Batson calling from the 
foot of the stairs — ‘ Come down to dinner, will you V 

^ * * # * * # 

Entre nous, Lucinda, the dinner was anything but inviting, and not 
at all like the cottage fare I had read of. There was a dish of fried 
pork floating in fat, and another of what our hostess called ‘ frizzled 
beef.’ These viands were too much alike, and neither of them looked 
tempting. There were some tough, ill-drained greenish beans ; and 
some very purple beets. 

‘ Our potaters isn’t fit to dig yet,’ said Mrs. Batson. ‘ They were 
planted late ; and it’s a great waste to take them up small. So we 
mostly does without potaters in the summer time, when we’ve plenty 
of other truck.’ 

The dinner introduced us to her niece, Mary. Now Mary is really 
a very mild, gentle-looking girl with a white skin and auburn hair. 
I looked at her hands, and found them truly large and red — poor thing. 
Lucinda, let us in future be skeptical as to the lily hands of cottage 
girls. She partly sat at table, and partly waited on it ; wiping knives 
and forks when they were to be changed ; and when it was wanted, 
cutting thin slices of bread from off a loaf that was brown to be sure, 
but rather sour than sweet. 

‘ I never has my dinner-bread cut ‘ aforehand,’ said Mrs. Batson, 
‘ because all that’s cut mightn’t be ate ; and that would be a waste ; 
and it’s wicked to waste bread — or take more of anything than we 
can eat.’ 

Tumblers seemed scarce, and Sally Ann and her mother drank out 
of the same, replenished from a brown pitcher that stood on the table. 
After the meat was dispatched, Mary brought in a dish of old yellow 
boiled corn, at the sight of which, Sally Ann testified much joy ; and 
Mrs. Batson was greatly surprised when mamma and I declined eating 
any. 

‘Noteat corn?’ she exclaimed. ‘ Well, if ever I heard the like! 
Why, where could you have been raised ? I had a great lot of it boiled, 
thinking you’d make the chief of your dinner off it.’ 

‘ Never mind mumma,’ said Sally Ann, ‘there’ll be more for them 
that likes it.’ 

The corn was smoking hot, so as to burn fingers and mouths. Each 
of the family took an ear, and after a slight buttering began to blow 
it to make it a little cooler. And Sally Ann seized two more ears in 
advance, and plunged them into the pitcher of water, addressing them 


4G ITIIE BATSON COTTAGE. 

with — ‘ There now, do you stay there and get cool by the time I’m 
ready for you.’ 

Of course we drank no more water. I never saw anything eaten 
with such apparent enjoyment as this unwholsome corn. Even the 
quiet Mary opened her lips and said — ‘ I love corn.’ 

‘ As for me,’ said Sally Ann, ‘ I could munch it from morning till 
night. I always have the biggest heap of cobs on plate by. the 

time dinner is over.’ 

The repast finished with a very sour apple-pie baked in a very tough 
crust, and a small pitcher of very blue milk to eat with it. 

* I have always heard,’ said Mrs. Batson, ‘ that townspeople think a 
groat deal of pie and milk when they get into the country.’ 

Lucinda, I have not described my room to you. The ceiling of 
course is ‘ villanous low.’ It is a very small apartment, with only one 
window ; the sash propped up with an old hearth-brush that must have 
belonged to the parlor, for there is no chimneys in the chambers. This 
window is shaded (or rather wwshaded) by a muslin curtain, so thin 
that is does no manner of good. To be sure the bed is not of straw. 
On the contrary it is of feathers, and looks distressingly soft for a 
summer couch. And there is a heavy patch-work quilt that I shall 
certainly remove before I seek the sweet oblivion of repose. I intend 
to set up very late to make the night shorter, fori mistrust its agreea- 
bility. There is no closet or press; so after partially unpacking, I 
had to put my things into an ill-made bureau, whose draws will neither 
open nor shut — at least, not without Herculean exertion. I think I 
shall have to hire black Jack to stay here and attend this bureau. 

Mamma’s room is no better than mine. She makes not the smallest 
comment on any of these disagrcmens. I suppose for fear of dis- 
couraging me. - 

******** 

We v/ere summoned to tea. I know not whether the tea w'as black 
oaojS an, for it had neither taste nor color. There was no ‘ cream 
bowl duly set.’ The cream was in a little jug that held about a gill, 
and Mrs. Batson doled it out in drops, as if she was dropping medi- 
cine. There were some tough short cakes baked white, a plate of 
white cheese, and a saucer of black things that I afterwards found 
were quartered quinces. Mamma and 1 tried to pretend to eat and 
drink, but found it severe work. Towards the close of the repast, 
Mrs. Batson said to us — ‘ And now, good folks, if you’ve done with 
your sassers, just hand them to m6, and I’ll wash them off in the slop 


TOE BATSON COTTAGE. 


47 


bowl and give you some'presarves on them. Mary, get me a cloth to 
wipe with.’ 

Mary rose, and produced a towel ; the saucers were washed and 
wiped, and two bits of quince were served out on each. The ‘ pre- 
sarves’ were so hard as to be scarcely eatable or indeed biteable, and 
very sour hoside. 

When tea w-as over, we went out and walked round the domain, 
and sat in the porch. I picked up some of the mulberries that 
strewed the ground beneath the great tree ; looking as they did, like 
short red worms. But I did not admire their taste more than their 
looks. Now that I have had experience in mulberries, I wish 
Shakspeare had planted a better sort of tree. 

I tried to enter into conversation with Mary, but could get nothing 
out of her. It may be timidity, and perhaps will wear off. I will 
hope for the best. 

It was scarcely twilight when Mrs. Baston informed us that it was 
time for all good people to be in bed ; and that in summer evenings 
she never lighted no candle down stairs, as it brought in the mus- 
quitoes. 

‘ Mary’ — said she — ‘ I suppose these women are pretty tired, and I 
am sure all the rest of us is. Sally Ann’s been asleep in the rocking- 
chair this half hour. So get a candle to light them to bed. The mother 
can use the candle first, and the daughter can wait till she has done 
with it, and then take it in her own room ; and she’ll please to set it 
out at her door before she gets into bed, and then you can have it.’ 

A small thin, yellowish candle standing loosely in the large socket 
of a tall iron candlestick was to do all this duty. I looked imploring- 
ly at mamma, so that she said — ‘ Mrs. Batson, I will thank you to let 
us have a second candle. My daughter must at once have a light to 
herself.’ 

* Well — if ever !’ exclaimed Mrs. Batson. ‘ It’s terrible to see how 
girls is indulged now. Go, Mary — if it must be so, get another candle 
for the young lady. I suppose a small bit will do.’ 

By that bit of candle I am writing to my dear Lucinda. It is now 
sinking and flickering in the socket. But the moon has risen, and by 
her silver light, that shines directly in at my window, I can see to 
prepare for bed. There is after all something sweet and mild in going 
to bed by moonlight. 


48 


THE BATSON COTTA<JE. 


It is now morning, and gladly have I welcomed the first beams of 
dawn light, for I slept but little. I took off the patchwork quilt. I 
detest all patchwork, even that which is called ornamental and covers 
fashiojiable chairs. I found my apprehensions of the feather bed be- 
ing too soft, were not realized. For the feathers were so few, that as 
soon as compressed by my lying down, the bed sank flat into little 
more than a sewed-up ticking, through which I felt the sacking-bottom 
and the cords and wooden pins. The bolster and pillow also sunk 
flat in the same manner. 

****** * 

We have been at breakfast, Alas! for the anticipated cream, and 
fruit, and honey. We had a drab-colored liquid miscalled coffee, 
sweetened with grayish-brown sugar, a salt mackerel, (which was un- 
touched except by the family,) a plate of green cucumber pickles that 
we willingly left to Sally Ann and Mary, and a violently salt and 
smoky Indian cake ; with the remains of the brownish leaf to be cut 
as it was wanted. 

I never supposed, Lucinda, that I should become fastidious about 
my food ; or is it that I have never before experienced the annoyance 
of being expected to eat things that were uninviting and unpalatable ? 
It is evident that people who are ‘ to the manner born,’ have no per- 
ception of ill-tasted victuals — at least in their own houses. 

*.***** * ' Ij 

Three days have now dragged slowly on, and I candidly acknowl- ' 
edge to my dear Lucinda that I have grown quite tired of life in a 
cottage — at least in a Batson cottage. Sally Ann follows me about 
everywhere, and teazes me for all manner of things. There is no of- 
fence in Mary, the ever silent Mary. But mild and gentle as she looks, 

I saw her yesterday chasing a fowl all about the yard, till she had fairly 
run it down ; and when she caught it, she brought it to the back door, 
laid its head on the stone that serves for a step, and Sally Ann brought 
her a knife and stood by laughing while Mary cut off the head of the 
poor squawking, fluttering bird. I covered my eyes with my hands, 
but I know she cut it off. Though it was the only fowl that had been 
on the table since we came here, I could not touch it at dinner. 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


49 


Stephen I did not see till yesterday evening, when he came home 
to make a short visit. He had rather a handsome face, but is very 
awkward, antt has a sort of clownish conceit about him that is unpre- 
possessing. Mary and he sat a long time together on the bench at the 
far end of the porch. To my utter surprise I found that the quiet 
Mary, when Stephen was with her, could talk fast enough. But oh ! 
so foolishly ! 

It is true that when I am in company with Stanford Lenox I always 
find myself more loquacious than usual ; but I take care to talk my 
very best. Poor Mary — the best she can say, is rather worse than 
nothing. Yet Stephen seems to like it. I prophesy a match. I have 
no desire, however, to stay here to see. 

******** 

Joy 1 joy ! my darling Lucinda. Mamma has just been into my 
room to ask me if I have had quite enough of the present specimen 
of cottage life. ‘ Quite’ — was my reply ; and I gladly assured her 
that I was perfectly willing (nay, very anxious) to return to our hotel 
at Laureltown. Anticipating this, she had already sent for a convey- 
ance thither ; and I shall immediately proceed to packing up as fast as 
possible. 

******** 

Dear Lucinda, we arn again at Mr. Kindman’s delightful establish- 
ment. Next week we go to meet papa. When the carriage set 
us down at the door, I ran up the steps as if treading on air. How 
charming to find ourselves again in handsome rooms, with plenty of 
servants in attendance, and everything comme ilfaut. 

‘I hope you have had a pleasant time here’ — said Mrs. Batson, af- 
ter mamma had paid her for a full week, urid at a price that would have 
been extravagant in a genteel and comfortable house. ‘ I did not 
know it was such a nice thing to take city people to board. Now I’ve 
begun, I shall stick to it. So if any of your friends should be com- 
ing this way, of course you’ll give them a recommend to my house. 
Are you soon going back to town V 

‘ Next week’ — replied mamma. 

‘ Well then — I am going to town myself before the winter sets in, 
to take Sally Ann. So I guess we’ll come and see you ; and maybe 


50 


THE BATSON COTTAGE. 


while we stay, we’ll make our home with you. What’s your di- 
rection V 

‘ We expect to remove to a new house, after papa comes home’ — 
said I. 

‘ Never mind’ — said Sally Ann — ‘ I guess we’ll find you out wher- 
ever you be. Won’t we, mumraa V 

Is there never to be on end of the Batson cottage. 


THE END. 



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